


Consertae

by taranoire



Series: Points of View [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Backstory, Gen, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Slavery, Tragedy, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 05:44:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taranoire/pseuds/taranoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You do not know how to read, or speak the common tongue. You do not know what your short life will have in store for you. You do not know that your daughter will become a magister’s apprentice, or that your son will one day call himself Fenris. You are a slave, unable to control the circumstances of their birth or their lives—but you can raise them, and hope for the best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consertae

**Author's Note:**

> A series of vignettes about Leto, Varania, and their mother told from the mother's perspective in second-person omniscient. For kicks. 
> 
> WARNINGS: Refers to/implies/contains thematic elements of rape, child abuse and child death, slavery, abortion, infanticide, etc. None of this is explicit, but it could be potentially triggering.

You catch his eye as you tend the fields, sweat and hot rain running down your back in the humid stench of Seheron jungle. He is an elf, like you, with light red hair and eyes of the deepest green, skin the color of sand. He asks your name from his mount. When you do not respond to his question, ankle-deep and barefoot in mud, he flashes a grin. He speaks to his comrades. The language is coarse, loud. You do not know it. 

They speak to your master. It is a small homestead, and you are one of two slaves on the property; the only one with the strength to sow seeds, or milk a cow, or carry heavy bags of mulch. You are seventeen years old. You never knew your parents. 

The soldiers pay your master for your time. You lie on your back and perform, glad not to be out in the heat. 

* 

In the summer, your master’s wife notices that you are weaker, that you take ill often, that your cycle has stopped. She gives you leaves to chew, saying that they will help your sickness, but you know them as poison, a cure for an unwanted child; you grind the herbs into your tea but do not drink it. 

When your womb begins to grow, you are tied to a post and lashed, your blood running into the muck while flies lick the stripes. You wake on your cot, as the other slave, Helena, dresses the wounds. She tells you, in broken Tevine, that you are lucky to be alive.

You put your hand to your belly and pray.  

* 

In the last weeks of the pregnancy, your master’s wife tends to you as you rest on your cot. She presses cool cloths to your forehead and tells you stories about the Imperium. You enjoy listening to her talk. She never apologizes for whipping you. 

Some nights, in the distance, you can hear sharp cracks in the jungle. Helena tells you not to worry from her place beside you on the cot. It is Tal-Vashoth—though you do not know what that means. When you ask Helena questions, she seals her lips, as if she does not understand you, or is afraid of enabling what masters fear most: 

That you have feet, and could run to those mysterious shadows in the night, if you thought to. 

* 

Although Helena and your master’s wife help you, the rain, heat, and cacophony of thunder make the delivery both uncomfortable and deadly. When not one, but two infants emerge from you, dread pools deep in you, and you begin to sob, still drenched in sweat, blood, and after-birth. 

"You have to choose," your master’s wife says. She wipes her hands on her apron. There is pity in her eyes but little more. She prepares a bucket of water. 

You cry and reach for your children. They wail, bundled in a basket. “You cannot ask this of me. Please, mistress, I beg you….” 

Helena holds you back. She says nothing to you, absent of the words necessary to comfort you. 

The master’s wife shakes her head. “One of them is female—should that not be reason enough? It is better that you drown her now, or she will only end up in some brothel gutter by the end. You should know that.” 

You are seventeen, and already very weary. “Let them have my rations. Let them have my water. My bed. The air I breathe. Mistress, you need not lift a finger, just do  _not_  drown them…”

Something in your voice must stir the mistress, because she swallows tightly, and says that she will ask the master what he thinks should become of them. 

* 

You call her ‘Varania’ at the behest of your mistress, who takes to the little girl immediately, often asking to hold her on balmy afternoons while you toil in the sun. The name comes from a tropical Tevinter flower that is poisonous when ingested. You remember putting it in your hair in your childhood, though that feels like an age ago. 

The boy you name ‘Leto,’ which means ‘hidden’ and ‘summer’ and ‘light.’ Your mistress finds the name depressing—ominous. You do not tell her that in your darkest hours it was pleasant to hide in small spaces and pretend not to exist.

If Leto must reside in shadow, may he be kept safe and warm. If Varania is to be beautiful, you hope that she will also be dangerous. 

* 

Leto sleeps constantly. Varania barely eats. This saves your life, though you would never say it aloud. You are aware that if you complain about your tired body or empty stomach, they will pay the price. You push yourself to exhaustion, knowing that at least, one day, they will be able to feed, soothe, and work independently. 

You dread the day Varania becomes a woman. As soon as she is ready to let go of your hand, you know she will be in danger. 

*

Barely a year passes before a soldier knocks on your master’s door. The territory is unstable, and no longer under the Imperium’s control—if it had it to begin with. You and Helena sleep dreadfully that night, your children’s cries for once a welcome reprieve from anxieties about the future. 

Early in the morning, before the mist has cleared from the trees, your mistress gives you a new dress to wear. She sends for a carriage, and whisks you and your children away in it, saying that she wants you to accompany her into town. 

The marketplace smells of salt and sweat. Humans shout at you, flat-eared and loud. They press you up against a wall, open your mouth with rough fingers, pinch your muscles and stare into your face. Your children are ignored. 

You begin to cry. 

Your mistress shouts as if from very far away. “The infants will go with the mother. I will not charge extra for them, but this is my only condition. They will not be separated.” 

You are huddled and crowded and bundled and shoved, your clothes damaged, filthy, by the time they are done with you. Your mistress and a human woman wearing a fashionable mask exchange words, and then coins. You are told to follow. 

When you turn around, your master’s wife has disappeared. 

* 

You are put in the cargo hold of a ship bound for Minrathous. Other slaves crowd you, in the dark, and the journey is long and harsh. There is little food. It is often difficult to breathe. Occasionally, men will come down the ladder and spit on you. They take children and older women above to the deck for fresh air, and you forgive them for their transgressions. 

Different languages and tongues swarm around you. You wonder about Helena. You wonder who will care for the homestead. You wonder if your children will be taken from you. If anyone tries to rip them from your arms, you will be helpless to stop them. 

*

In Minrathous, you step into the sunlight and are blinded by it. Your wrists are bound, and like chattel you are led with the others to a platform in the middle of a bustling market. You do not pay attention to the proceedings. You are weary, half-starved, and can barely stand. You are convinced your children will be dropped into the sea. 

A man bids on you. He is told that you have young infants with you. He raises his eyebrows, looks you over unscrupulously, and then says that he considers you a bargain if you come with extra growing bodies that he can groom to his whim. Besides, he says with a smile that is meant to comfort you. He enjoys the presence of children on his estate. 

* 

Your new master is a member of the  _laetan_  class. He is old, and getting older, but he has a wife and six heirs who will eventually split his estate between them. He owns forty slaves to tend to his sprawling gardens and manor, and also employs free servants, though you are told not to speak to them for your own safety.  

You are given a new dress and allowed to bathe in the house, though you are told not to expect the privilege again. Leto and Varania will be fed, your master promises, but you must compensate for this. You promise to be good. You will be an excellent slave. He smiles at you. 

When you become pregnant again, you drink the herbal remedy you remember from Seheron. 

* 

Years pass.

Leto is mischievous, impatient, but sweet. His dark hair is just like yours, and it grows faster than you can cut it. He is quiet, and contemplative, often spending his time staring wistfully off into space or at the human servants, as if studying their behavior. When he is four years old he weeps when he finds a dead cat in the garden. He buries it beneath a rose bush in the cloak of night with a small, child-size spade. 

Varania is just as intelligent, if not more so, but there is an intensity and a deviousness to her that Leto does not possess. When you look at her, with her bright red hair, you think of the elf who paid for your body those years ago in the jungle. You wonder if he is still alive. Then Varania will pull Leto’s hair, just to see his reaction, and you will not wonder any longer. 

* 

You are told you have a gift with plants, with herbs, and the master puts you in charge of the gardens and the conservatory. The human servants protest loudly, which pleases you. You simply smile at them when they call you a knife-ear, and then ask them to kindly pass those shears. 

Leto and Varania are allowed to play with the other children, so long as they know not to be seen or heard through the fences and gates around the estate. They keep to the courtyards, mostly, though there is a rose garden that Leto in particular is fond of.

One afternoon, after making Varania cry, Leto plucks her namesake and apologetically tucks it into her hair. 

* 

Your master has taken to one of the younger girls. She is fourteen, and has not yet started to bleed, but you make your remedy for her anyway. When she begins to cry, you pull her to your chest and stroke her head. You tell her she may come to you, but that she should take care that the master’s interest does not reach mistress’ ears. 

You hear that she has been sold some time later, though you are wise enough not to ask to whom or for what purpose. 

* 

Winters in Minrathous are just on the shy side of cool, but the gardens do not require as much attention during this time. Your master has a  _liberati_  woman come and teach the lady elves to sew and knit.

You enjoy this task. Your fingers hurt, but you are sometimes allowed to keep what you make, and sewing itself is mindless and allows for a bit of leisure. 

Eventually, you are so good that the mistress of the house asks you to repair her best gowns for her. You glow from these compliments, and sometimes you do not long for freedom at all. 

* 

When Leto is nine years old, he is put to work in the gardens, weeding the vegetable plots and fetching items for older slaves or the paid staff. He does not complain, finding pride and purpose in his work. Although you watch him from afar you soon feel you no longer need to. 

Varania is ten when she is taken into the house without your knowledge. At first, you remember the fourteen-year-old girl who warmed the master’s bed. Another slave takes you aside, and promises you that Varania will not come to harm. Your daughter is caring for the master’s youngest son. Nothing more. 

You take a deep breath, and go back to pruning your master’s prized roses. He has praised them many times. 

* 

You slap Leto across the face as soon as you hear the words leave his mouth. You grab him by the arm and throw him inside the empty greenhouse, whispering fiercely, demanding to know where he learned such a thing. 

Tears spill from deep green eyes. “I do not understand what it means,” he sobs in the common tongue. You slap him again. 

"That is the Qun," you say, voice catching because you do not quite understand it either. "If the master heard you speaking it, Leto, you would be whipped. You would be killed."

"I didn’t know," he says. He is shaking. "I didn’t know." 

* 

Varania wakes in the night with a scream. Her red hair clings to her damp skin. You go to her, and hold her, and whisper sweet nothings against her head. You hum a lullaby you once heard in Seheron, years ago, though the words are lost to you now. 

Finally she lifts her eyes, and what she says makes something quiver within you: “I dreamed of spirits, mother. Spirits that took the form of men, and elves. Spirits that promised me we could all be free, all of us, if I—” 

You hush her. 

In the dark, Leto watches, unable to fall asleep. 

* 

On their naming day, you are permitted to fresh fruit from the orchard. You discover that Leto is fond of apples, and decide you will try to remember that next year. Varania has no preferences. She takes small, contemplative bites, savoring each one. 

"Next year," she says, "I would like to try strawberries." 

*

The master dies. His eldest son takes over the estate, and inherits his property—the most valuable of it, slaves. Many are sent away. New slaves are bought. Most of them speak the common tongue. Those that utter the Qun have their tongues cut from their mouths, and are branded as outcasts. 

The gardens are no longer a priority. A human  _liberati_  takes over your position, and you are relegated to the house affairs with Varania. Your new master has children, spoiled and young, and they require many doting nannies who cannot say no to their every whim. 

You are proud of your daughter. She is a young woman now, beautiful and intelligent, and an excellent seamstress. She sews clothes for the master’s children, and he is so fond of her work and her dedication to his family that he has not touched her. Here, in the mansion, you can keep an eye on her, and draw her away from those who would do her harm. 

You cannot do the same for Leto. 

At fourteen, he is still in the conservatory and occasionally the horse pen, doing heavy labor. You hear rumors that he is involved in everything from drunken brawls to stealing food to wrestling slaves in the stables at night, but he is never in a mood to talk, and you do not ask him if it is  _all_  true. 

You prick your finger on your needle. Varania looks to see if you are harmed, but her attention quickly goes back to her work. 

It cannot all be true. 

* 

You have delivered many infants during your time here, but you cannot save all of them. For every healthy child, there is another who is born dead. Even those that survive the birth are not guaranteed to be alive once spring arrives. The slave quarters are drafty, and dark, and slave mothers must carry them out on their backs in the elements as they work. 

You think you know how the world works, and that it holds no more surprises for you. 

A child you delivered eight years ago is caught stealing the mistress’ white-gold pin that she favors. He is bound to a stake and lashed until he begins to convulse. When he dies, his body is put on a cart and taken away. His mother chews deathroot and falls asleep. When you attempt to revive her, the other slaves tell you to let her go in peace, and her heart stops beating as you hold her hand.  

* 

Varania is a mage. 

She dreams of demons, of spirits, of what is beyond. Her emotions affect the aura of everyone around her. When she is angry, or frustrated, static will build up in the air. Only Leto is able to calm her down and dissipate the magic. 

Varania, somewhat pampered as a house slave, dreams of becoming an apprentice to a wealthy magister. She expresses this quite vocally, some evenings, and you do not shut down this dream at first. You warn her that if she is freed, she will be exploited. You tell her that if she is freed, you and Leto will inevitably be left behind. 

This quiets her, but you know she does not forget. You wonder if it is cruel to ask her to hide her gifts. You pray that she has the common sense to keep to herself. 

* 

Your children accumulate starkly different reputations. They are both admired for their wit, their beauty, their strong sense of independence. They each work hard to please their master. They are very fond of each other; they sense when the other is ill, know when they are keeping secrets, when there is something wrong. 

Leto is seductive, and manipulative, and reckless. Leto will smile at girls that he finds pretty, and at boys that he finds strong. He will openly express his disdain for his superiors, and hatches schemes to overthrow the master with his friends. The imagined rebellions are far too inventive to take seriously, though you slap him anyway. 

Varania is charming, delicate, and refined. Her manners are impeccable. She is allowed to accompany the mistress into the city and often assists her with shopping. She wears pretty things, and the master’s children call her _soror._  Sometimes you catch her gazing out of the window at the stars in the middle of the night. 

* 

You are tending the garden on a lazy Sunday afternoon when you get the sense that something is very wrong. 

Picking up your skirts, you dash for the slave quarters. There is a crowd gathered outside the door. You push through them, only to find Leto, sobbing, covered in blood. A broken shiv lies at his side, crudely whittled, and before him lies a corpse. You do not recognize the dead elf, but know he is a slave. 

Varania lies in a corner, unconscious, bleeding from the head. Women attend to her. 

"What have you done?" you cry out, shaking him. "Leto, what have you done?!" 

He looks at you, tears in his eyes, and wordlessly shakes his head before pressing himself to you, clutching you in terror. So young, and to have killed a man. You know the master will have him hanged for this. You hold him tightly. 

"He tried to hurt Varania," Leto says. "He tried to—" 

You hush him, and close your eyes. 

* 

They bring Leto before a judge.

You do not hear anything about the proceedings until much later, and then only by word of mouth. Your son is given a choice: die by the noose, or in the Colosseum? Your little Leto chooses the sword. 

Varania screams and falls to the floor when she hears of his fate. You sob together, clutching each other, because you know that the arena is where they send elves to die for sport. Leto will be slaughtered, like an animal, and his corpse used as fodder for beasts. 

You hold a vigil for Leto in the dark of night, praying to the Maker and the Divine for his protection and his soul. 

* 

You do not hear any more news about Leto. You assume that he has fallen.

*

And then, one evening, with the sky bright scarlet and the smell of summer on the wind, a commotion stirs the estate. You and your daughter follow the excitement to the gates—and for a moment, you think your heart has stopped beating. 

Leto stands there, in the attire of a mercenary, unarmed and surrounded by those who believed him dead. When he sees you, he rushes to you, and pulls you into a strong embrace. Tears spill down his face, but he is smiling. 

"You did not die?" you ask, stupidly, in disbelief. 

He laughs. “No, mother. I did not die.” He presses his face into your shoulder. “I won, that first round. And the next, and the next, a-and I…mother, I have caught the attention of a magister….” 

* 

Leto wins the tournament and the magister, called Danarius, humbles you by inviting you to his large estate in the heart of Minrathous. You are instructed to wear your best clothes, and when you tell the magister’s representative that you have none, you are gifted with a satin and lace gown that is finer than anything you have ever touched. 

You are trembling with fear and awe when you meet the man, sinking to your knees in subservience. He chuckles, amused, and extends his hand to you. You kiss it. He bids you to rise, and you are invited to eat with him. 

You do not touch your plate. 

"I imagine you are curious about my intentions for your son," the magister says. His voice is kind, but you have learned that sweetness can disguise the taste of poison. "He has made a deep impression upon me. I sought a bodyguard, someone strong and efficient, someone who could endure severe duress and live. I did not expect to find anyone so capable, but he is not just that; he is intelligent, intuitive, breathtaking beyond words." 

You put your hands in your lap and bow your head. “I am glad you find him pleasing.” You don’t. Not really. You are frightened for him, and for whatever  _duress_ this man plans to put him under. “I beg your pardon, magister, but will he be in great danger?” 

Danarius smiles, and takes a drink of his wine. It is a deep, bloody red. “I paid a great deal of money to host this tournament,” he says. “And I have promised him a favor, which I expect shall also be expensive. I will be investing thousands of sovereigns into him and his development. He will be protecting me, but I would not wish harm to come to him. You have my word I will protect him as well.”

"Why give me your word?" you ask. "Your kindness…humbles me. I am a mere slave, and yet…"

 ”I wanted to meet the mother of my little wolf,” Danarius says. You don’t like the way his voice gets low and dark. “I wanted to compliment the woman who raised him. And I wanted to see if he inherited his incredible beauty from her. It seems that he has.” He raises his glass, toasting you, and then takes another drink. 

You close your eyes. For years, you have always feared for Varania; it never occurred to you that Leto would attract dangerous attention. Your son will be cared for. He will be his master’s most favored. But that comes with a price, and right now, your thoughts are dark and clouded and angry with the reality that this man intends to rape your son. 

Your voice is weak. “Thank you, magister,” you say. “That is a wonderful compliment.” 

* 

You are allowed to see him one last time, taken from Danarius’ dining room to a locked bedroom chamber. As soon as the door is opened, Leto runs to you, his slight frame stronger now that he has lived through the horrors of the arena and beyond. At first, neither of you can speak. You know that Leto will never see you again. 

He is shaking in your arms. “I do not know what he wants from me,” he says, his voice tight with fear. “There were different things they asked us to do. Some of them felt foolish. Things as innocent as setting a table properly, or as sickening as letting them touch us…look at us. Mother, I am frightened of him.” 

You take his chin in your hand, and lift his face. He is beautiful, and it makes you sick. “You will do great things under this magister. You have been given a gift. If he wanted to hurt you, he would not have gone through all of the effort to find you. You will be well-fed, and cared for.” 

"I am not sure," he says, shakily. "His men, they….they look upon me as if they pity me. As if they know something that I do not." 

You hold him tightly. You pray that he is wrong. Despite the magister’s assurances, there is something about him that makes your skin crawl, and you do not want to let Leto go. “Listen to me,” you say, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I am so proud of you, my darling. Please be a good boy. Obey your master, and respect him, and he will treat you well.” 

Leto nods his head, giving a weak sob. His voice is muffled against your shoulder. “He has promised me a favor. A reward.” He looks up at you with dark, glassy green eyes. “I am going to ask him to free you and Varania.”  

And before you can respond, you are being pulled away from him, pulled to your feet, and out of the room. You do not protest, scared of the repercussions, but you do not hide the fact that you are weeping. He looks back at you, face screwing up with the tears in his eyes, and then the door is closed and he is gone.  

* 

You and your daughter are freed without ceremony. You are given your papers, turned out at the gates, and left to your own devices. At first, freedom is a dream, hardly real at all, a miracle of divine proportions. Then the hunger sets in, and afterwards, a desire for a warm bed. Slavery was no boon, but at least there was food, and shelter.

You take jobs where you can find them. You do laundry, and clean houses, and wait on the soporati in small taverns. Varania becomes registered with the Circle, and although far more liberal than its southern counterparts, it takes you out of Minrathous and into Qarinus where new magical talent is desperately needed. 

She ascends the Circle’s invisible tiers quickly, as you anticipate. When she catches the attention of yet another magister, you are thrown into a panic and sob, shaking on the floor of the tenement you share with her. She holds you and says that she will never leave you. She will not abandon you like Leto did.

"He gave us this freedom," she says, voice embittered by the pain of the last few years, "but do not forget that it is I who have fed us and clothed us and kept us from prostitution."

This will not always be true—in a year’s time, Varania will begin to sell her body to her peers in the Circle in exchange for expensive texts and money for the rent—but it comforts you to know that she has things under control.

*

Your body begins to fail you. Your spine is bent. Your shoulders are hunched and tense. Your fingers, once dexterous and the envy of other elven ladies, start to go numb. You often cannot breathe. Years of hard labor and a contagious ailment you contract in the summer are killing you and you cannot stop it. 

You die on a hot, humid morning. Your lungs are full of imbalanced humors and your skin burns at the touch. Varania brews you tonics and teas but the fever never breaks, and you feel yourself slipping away. You have seen enough death to know when its presence moves across a room.

You take Varania’s hand and smile up at her. You feel as if you are breathing water and your eyes are heavier than they have ever been. Your body aches, desperate for rest.

You open your mouth to speak the words Varania has always deserved to hear: that she is beautiful, that she is brilliant, that she will do great things, that you are proud of her. You do not have much time. You do not have many words left. In the end, all that leaves you is a shaky, soft, “Where is Leto?”

You shut your eyes. Varania brushes your sweat-dampened hair away from your face. Her hands are delicate and cool. “Leto is gone,” she says. Her voice is tight as if with tears. “He left us years ago. Don’t you remember, mamman?”

You give a low whine. “No. Please, I need to see Leto.”

"I am here," Varania says, kissing your forehead. "I am right here."

"Where is my Leto?" Something hot and wet drips down your cheek.

"Leto—is dead," Varania whispers. It is a lie, but less horrifying than the truth, and closer than it seems. "He died years ago, and he will not be coming. He was killed in the arena. He was killed to save us."

"Yes…perhaps it’s better this way." Your smile is weak. "If he is gone, then I will see him soon."

*

Here is what you do not know. 

You do not know what Leto suffers at the hands of his master, do not know of the tears he weeps until he forgets how to cry and loses the ability completely. You do not know that he runs from Danarius, or that he fights alongside Tal-Vashoth, or that his efforts to thwart recapture will leave him hardened and weary of even the kindest stranger. You do not know that he falls asleep with a sword at his back. You do not know that this fear will carry him from hamlet to village to the City of Chains. 

You do not know that the man he loves is good and decent, and helps him kill his demons. You do not know that the man will give him honesty, respect, affection, and warmth. You do not know that the man will protect him from every danger, every darkness, or that your Leto will no longer suffer. You do not know that he will once again learn to cry, to feel. 

You do not know he will never remember you. Not really.

But on warm summer days when he walks through the market square, he will breathe in the scent of roses. He will pause, and pieces of memory will drip through the veil like rain through cloth. He will not understand why he walks away feeling the forgotten glowing warmth of the woman he once called  _mater._


End file.
